


Rose in a Fisted Glove

by Nanashi Jones (miaoujones)



Category: Bleach
Genre: F/M, Fingerfucking, Fingersucking, Friendship, Oral Sex, Substitution Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-28
Updated: 2007-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-19 07:04:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miaoujones/pseuds/Nanashi%20Jones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They went drinking tonight, those left behind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rose in a Fisted Glove

They went drinking tonight, those left behind. And Abarai too, both left behind and not (in his own way if not in theirs). They went drinking again and this time they didn't talk about the fact that they were left behind, they didn't talk about who left them, they didn't talk about why, _why_ … They talked, yes, but not about any of that. They talked and they drank and they smiled and they even laughed, and when the smiles were empty and the laughter hollow, they drank more to fill it all up.

Kira drank himself so heavy he couldn't move his limbs properly, and they all laughed more. He drank himself so heavy he couldn't move his mouth into a proper smile even when he was laughing too, and that made Rangiku want to stop laughing and cry instead, and that's when she realized she'd lost track of her own drunk and better stop before she became too heavy herself.

"I'll take him," she said when the night broke up, when all of them stood except Kira. Hisagi and Abarai offered to help but they were leaning into each other and the walls as it was, so with a smile she shook them off and began to trundle Kira home herself.

He wasn't heavy at all, not on the outside anyhow. He was so light that she forgot she had him with her until she was already at her own quarters. And then suddenly he did seem heavy, when she thought about retracing steps and taking the turns back to his quarters…

And so they're here on the floor of hers now. Rangiku leans back, letting this wall support her as she stares without seeing at the wall opposite. Kira's hair is brushing the back of her hand; idly she twirls a few stray strands, winding them into a tight curl around her finger before letting them spiral loose and free. She combs them back, fingers curling in towards her palm then relaxing to fit the curve of his skull, the heel of her palm resting as her fingers stretch out to comb and smooth. When she feels him stir beneath her hand, she hushes him reflexively.

"I don't need to be babied," he says, although he doesn't move from her touch, not even to turn his face to her. 

She doesn't look at him either as she continues to pet gently. "What do you need?"

He doesn't say anything. His breathing is slow and steady, and she is starting to think she may have soothed him to sleep after all—but then he says, soft, so softly, "I just need to forget."

Yes. 

Rangiku's fingers curl as she strokes through his hair now, through and down so her fingertips touch the skin of his nape, curving more so she can trace with her fingernails, down to the knot of bone at the top of his spine. He arches his neck as she begins to massage with her thumb, her fingers reaching back up to play with the whorls damply plastered to his nape.

His fingers are moving now, too: circling her ankle, slipping up, his head turning to face her as his hand slides under her robes, up to her knee. She tucks the long fall of his bangs behind his hair, lingering to trace the shell as his fingers curve around her kneecap, his thumb caressing the back of her knee.

And then he slides from beneath her hand and he is kneeling face-to-face with her. He is half-hidden by the natural forward fall of his hair but she feels his full gaze as he slides his hand from her knee down along her thigh; she holds the gaze as she cants open, holds the gaze as he makes his way all the way down and beneath and through, holds the gaze as he touches her. She smiles when he brushes his thumb against her but the tremblings in her smile spill out along her skin and when she takes a deep breath the tremblings that didn't spill out slip down swallowed to flutter in her belly. And she doesn't want to smile empty, so she stops smiling with her mouth. In the moonlight that filters into her room, she can't tell if Kira is smiling, so she reaches for him; he lets her touch his mouth but she still can't tell if he's smiling, not even when she traces the shape of his lips. He opens his mouth for her and as she slips inside, she opens herself for him too, and he obliges by filling her with his fingers just as she fills him with hers, his tongue warm and wet and curling around her fingers, his fingers curling inside her, warm and wet, and even if they aren't smiling, they aren't empty and that's just as good, and oh, _oh_ , it's getting better…

She sighs a protest when his fingers leave her, but then his hands are on her legs, cupping around the backs of her knees; she goes with the tug, giving up the the wall at her back, withdrawing her own fingers from his mouth to lean back on both hands for support. She goes with his hands again as he coaxes her open wider. Then he lies between her legs and kisses her. His tongue slips from between his parted lips, flicks across her clit, and again, and again; and when he starts kissing with his teeth too, she starts to open up inside-out, wants to open her legs wider and at the same time wants to clamp her thighs to his head to hold him there, yes, _there_. She arches, hips pushing up against him as her shoulders hit the floor, both hands reaching for him, pushing and angling him to where she needs him; his nose brushes her clit as he enters her. He tonguefucks her until she's shaking and full, overfull, tonguefucks her until the shaking breaks and the fullness spills; and even then he keeps kissing her, just a little longer, until the tenderness starts to hurt.

He sits up. When he gets done wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, she can see that he's smiling. She smiles too. "That was," she says. Smiles more: "I loved that."

"I thought you might." Kira smiles more too. "He used to bend down over my shoulder when he'd come back from spending time with you." The smile quirks up gamely. "Felt like I could taste you on his breath." Even when Kira's eyes slide away and his head turns to follow his gaze, the smile stays curved at the corners of his mouth. "He loved you," Kira says softly, not looking back.

Rangiku keeps looking at him. He doesn't turn away entirely; he lets her look. _He loved you too,_ she wants to say. _He loved you enough to want to make you jealous. He loved you enough not to fuck me._ She wonders how many Rukongai whores felt Gin's tongue, how many got fucked by his smiling mouth as he thought of his vice captain, and maybe even as he thought of her… _Oh, fuck you,_ she wants to say to Ichimaru Gin.

She's aware of Kira turning to look at her; she realizes, by the furrow in his brow, that she has spoken at least that last part aloud. "Not you," she says. "Him."

Kira nods, smiles again. "It's all right. I didn't mind. I mean…" His voice trails off, his gaze going with it. Then he looks at her, smiling yet again or maybe still: "At least he had you. At least he had someone."

She wants to cry again. _Fuck you_ , Rangiku thinks. _Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you._ She isn't sure who she is cursing, Gin or herself or this boy kneeling here looking at her and trying to smile for her and smiling still for his captain. _Fuck all of us_ , she thinks; _We are all so fucked_.

"Come here." She sits up, holding out one arm, touching her lap with the other. Kira scans her face and she doesn't smile, she just says it again, and this time he climbs into her lap. She puts one arm around his waist, hand settling at the small of his back as she lifts the other to her own mouth to quickly suck her fingers slick. "Lift up," she says, pushing his robes aside, going under them to reach around. He sucks in breath audibly when her fingertip presses against him there. She leans back just enough to look at his face. "Did he ever do this for you?"

Kira looks at her, then seems to fold into himself as he shrugs, his eyes sliding off. "No," he smiles.

She pushes inside and his smile distorts, opens and elongates into a silent _oh_. His fingers tighten on her shoulders and when she stops, he pushes back for her, taking her deeper. She moves her other hand from the small of his back to his hip, helping him meet her in rhythm as she pushes in and slides out and pushes in and. "Please," he cries softly.

"Am I hurting you?" she asks. She thinks she might really be hurting him, might be too dry inside him; she thinks, too, that he might want the hurt. He's starting to beg for it; he's starting to beg for something, anyhow. She doesn't want him to beg. She wants to give him what he needs. She wants, just for this one night, just for this, a cock so that she can fuck him the way he wants and needs, the way that Gin should have fucked him, the way Gin used to fuck her. "Yes," she murmurs to him, leaning over him now, him on his back beneath her now, his fingers curling around her wrist, guiding her back to him. She brings one of his ankles to her shoulder, holding it there as she enters him again. 

"Can I," he breathes, looking at her, "do you want me to—can I touch myself for you?"

She keeps stroking inside him. "Did you do that for him?"

Kira nods. "He would ask me to, sometimes." The smiles flickers back. "He liked to watch me." Rangiku flickers with remembrance herself. Arching, eyes heavily lidded now, Kira says, "He would let me, sometimes, when I was…" He moans, doesn't finish the sentence even after the sound drifts free. 

She trusts him to keep his foot over her shoulder as she reaches for his hand and brings it to his cock. "When you were sucking him off?" she asks as she wraps his fingers around just below the head. He nods, then gasps as she coaxes his thumb across his cockhead. She flickers with remembrance and more, herself. "Touch yourself, Izuru," she urges as she lets go, her voice low and lower still: "Want to see you come for me." 

"Yes," he murmurs, moans it: "Yes…"

And then he is silent and so is she. No, not silent—wordless but full of sound, full of moans and sighs and whimpers, full of inarticulations, surrendering to inarticulated pleasure; full of surrender and slipping down, his foot falling from her shoulder, she herself slipping to the floor, lying on her belly between his legs as her fingers slip from him, as her tongue slips inside him, her fingers between her own legs, inside herself. They are slipped and fallen and surrendered, they are full of drunk maybe, and maybe not, but whatever they are, they are not empty, even when they spill out over themselves; even spilt and fallen, they are not. 

She shifts to stretch out beside him, first on her back, then turning on her side facing him. "Did Gin ever kiss you?" she asks, forgetting not to say his name aloud.

Kira doesn't flinch at it, though. "Not like that," he smiles. 

She looks at his smile in the moonlight. She forgets to be angry with Gin for not kissing Kira like that, she forgets to be angry with Gin for kissing her like that. She looks at Kira smiling like this and she forgets. She watches Kira's eyes close, watches his smile melt with somnulent breath, and she forgets to forget. 

And it hurts a little, but not as much as it used to. Not as much as she wants it to.


End file.
